


Hush, Hush

by FreshPrincessofCheyne



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-29
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4678994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreshPrincessofCheyne/pseuds/FreshPrincessofCheyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce always told himself sexual encounters only led to attachments. He never did learn to take his own advice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hush, Hush

**Author's Note:**

> Just some stupid, angsty drabble I thought of and decided to write, so I hope you enjoy some more Superbat!!

Their nights together were long. From the disappearance of the sun to its reappearance at dawn, the two were in between the sheets. They moved together in sync, typically slower, to capture all the pleasure that curled their toes; their bodies slick with sweat. Clark could hear Bruce's racing heart, the man's sapphire eyes glistening like stars beneath him. Clark didn't know how to explain these encounters. The two weren't together. They didn't typically have any feelings toward each other (that they knew of), and this was nothing but casual sex. That was what bothered Clark. He could feel the changes in feelings toward Bruce transform quickly; he took his time with Bruce's body, kissing every scar and letting his fingertips ghost over all the crevices and dips in his skin and muscle. He began to appreciate the man's beauty as he entered him, carefully filling Bruce and making sensual, precise movements with his hips. He focused more on Bruce's pleasure than his own. He began to remember every noise he made; the whimpers, the moans and groans, the cries and screams.

Clark wasn't sure he could continue this any longer, especially with how he felt towards Bruce. He couldn't bring himself to end this agreement they had, simply for the fact that he loved the feel of Bruce's arms wrapped around his body; it was as if he was addicted to the man. He couldn't get enough despite the pain it caused him. It had taken them a while to get to where they are mostly because Bruce believed sex created attachments. Clark had sworn he wouldn't do that to Bruce. The way it worked was that Clark would give Bruce what he needed and Bruce would give Clark what he wanted. They both gave each other what they liked.

They would light candles around the room and sometimes even play soft music when the two were feeling affectionate enough; which wasn't often. But Bruce needed a little love too, and Clark couldn't stop himself from giving him just that. The flicker of the candles hit Bruce just in the right way, enhancing his sharp features, his mouth slack and his muscles taunt and flexing without his consent, his body shaking as he gripped onto Clark like a lifeline. His pale skin was absolutely stunning under the gentle, orange glow- Clark would slow down to make it last just a little longer, and sometimes do it just to hear Bruce beg.

He wanted more. Needed more. If that made him greedy, then so be it. He wanted Bruce. Wanted to hold him whenever he pleased, actually kiss him- god, he imaged it would be incredible, and Bruce would have the skillful tongue he knew that the man possessed. That had been Bruce's one rule. No kissing on the lips. It had bothered Clark to say the least, and he had been a bit pissed off and hurt, but he agreed to those terms. Like Bruce reminded him, it would only lead to an attachment. He said that was what he didn't need at the moment. Clark's thoughts were different.

On the nights where the two were in a frenzy, it was more fucking then it was making love. Bruce wouldn't dare call it that; even after the fact that they lit candles, had music and only touched each other carefully and gently. They'd fuck wherever they could, at the manor, the Watchtower, Clark's apartment- Clark didn't mind, but it was beginning to hurt. The way Bruce would brush their encounters off like it was nothing; like Clark was just another fuck, willing to give Bruce everything to keep him happy. He mattered too, and he _wasn't_ a whore. After almost six months of this agreement, Clark decided to end it. He didn't want to because he knew it would be the only time he'd be able to touch and appreciate Bruce and give him everything he'd be willing to, but he deserved happiness too. He deserved someone to hold, not just someone to fuck. The fucking was amazing, don't get him wrong, but he wanted Bruce's everything. His every thought, his every worry, his every kiss and touch, _be his everything…_

“Clark?” Bruce asked, underneath him and breathing heavily, his hand lifting to rest on Clark's cheek, “What's wrong?” He flinched away and carefully pulled himself from Bruce, falling against the sheets.

“I can't do this anymore, Bruce,” he admitted as he swung his legs over his bed and began the search for his clothes.

It was silent as Bruce watched the candles flicker, until, “I understand.”

“I'm... sorry. I- You know what? Forget it.” He wasn't even going to try. Clark would have explained but Bruce's stoic voice crushed the motivation he had to do so. It seemed like Bruce didn't even give a damn. It felt like he had been kicked in the chest, nothing but an empty hole left, one that expanded and he could do nothing to stop it.

“Do I get an explanation or are you just going to leave?”

 _I have to leave. It's the only way to stop falling in love with you_ , Clark thought miserably. He tried to ignore the quote that floated around in his mind-  _absence makes the heart grow fonder-_  hoping it wouldn't apply to his situation. If he left now, it wouldn't be too late to forget what he had been feeling towards Bruce. He knew by now he was just trying to convince himself otherwise; condition his mind into thinking his attraction towards Bruce had been fake, imagined, all along. 

He glanced sadly at Bruce who sat up on his bed, wrapped beautifully in the Egyptian cotton sheets, his thigh and the curve of his ass visible, including the love bites covering them. His hair was tousled, his cheeks were a gorgeous scarlet and his lips were swollen, a shade of rose. Clark swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head, forcing himself to look away at the beauty before him- forced himself to bid his farewell. 

“You deserve a reason, but I just can't give it to you. I'm sorry, Bruce. Good-bye.” And with that, he disappeared, the door to the balcony left open. The curtains flapped wildly in the wind like a ghost. Bruce stared at the spot Clark vanished from for a long time, his fingers shaking. What had he done wrong? They had been so intertwined with each other, unable to break free- they went together perfectly. Bruce had promised himself he wouldn't get attached. And he got more involved with Clark then he liked to admit. He gritted his teeth as his eyes welled with tears. The harsh wind whisked away the flames, stealing away any illumination, leaving Bruce wrapped in the darkness alone. His vision was blurred and he clutched the sheets until his knuckles turned white, his jaw tight. He didn't want to be upset over Clark leaving. He was.

But why did Clark _have_ to leave? What did Bruce do to make him want to go in such a hurry? _Was he_ that _revolting_?

He viciously wiped away the tears that spilled over his cheeks with a snarl of disgust, throwing the sheets over his head and pretending he wasn't hurt, when all he wanted to do was disappear.

*~~*~~*

Batman perched himself on a gargoyle, his eyes scanning his city buzzing beneath him. His cape swayed like a shadow in the breeze as he looked off to the sky littered with stars, expecting a certain someone to descend down as if he was from heaven, that beautiful smile stretching his lips- the one Bruce adored. He missed Clark. His bed was cold and empty. He never woke to Clark wrapped around him, never woke to the candles' flame slowly fading, leaving small shadows dancing along the wall before him. He wouldn't get to watch Clark sleep, wouldn't get to touch him. He sighed tiredly and continued on, racing across roofs in order to get his adrenaline pumping so he could forget about Clark, the heavy pound of his heart distracting him from any unnecessary thoughts. He had to focus. He had a job to do.

About two hours into his patrol, Oracle had informed him of a domestic violence report in progress down at the Burnside district. It didn't take him long to reach his destination. A group of men advanced on an African American woman who screamed profanities at them, swinging her purse around. Batman dropped from the roof and landed between the three men and the woman, startling the thugs. He began what was second nature to him; delivering powerful punches and kicks where they were needed. But tonight, it didn't feel _right_. He danced around them awkwardly, missing multiple chances to dodge attacks and earning himself a split lip and a bloody nose. One of the men had gotten behind him and held him by the arms while the other two beat him. The woman moved from her hiding place, screaming as she jumped on one of the guy's backs, her arms around his neck. He choked out and stumbled backwards, the distraction giving Batman enough time to break one arm free and crack his elbow across his attacker's temple. He fell unconscious.

The woman on the man's back was slammed to one of the brick buildings, grunting, but keeping her unbreakable hold. Hurrying forward and grabbing the thug who was trying to help his friend, Batman turned him around and brought his closed fist to his face. He let him drop to the ground in a crumbled heap, groaning, then rushed to help the woman once she was thrown from the criminal's back.

Bruce moved in on the man, only to not be quick enough. He paused at the sound of tearing flesh and the uncomfortable pressure in his thigh, briefly stunned. He didn't look down, instead, he snapped his head forward and headbutted the idiot. Batman glanced down where the knife had penetrated; his Femoral Artery had been punctured, the blood gushing and pooling over his suit like spilled paint. Just what he fucking needed. When he heard footsteps behind him and spun around, he met with a gun aimed at his head. Batman's eyes widened. He was to light headed to act. Then, the woman's fist shot forward before the trigger could be pulled, the criminal's head snapping back at the impact. She kicked him for good measures when he collapsed at her feet.

"Batman!" She said in surprise as Bruce stumbled forward, catching himself as his leg gave out. He grunted at the searing burn. "Do you need to be taken to a hospital?" She placed her heads on his shoulders to help support him. 

"That won't be necessary. I appreciate the help, though," he managed as softly as he could as he pulled all the men together and zip-tied their wrists, disposing of their weapons. He felt dizzy, his hands shaking.

She beamed. "You do a lot for this piece of shit city, you know. There are a lot of people grateful for that; for your sacrifices. Don't ever think otherwise." She was surprisingly calm as she picked up the objects that had fallen out of her purse, Batman's eye catching a pin on the side of her bag; a black circle with a bat symbol in the middle. He almost grinned.

"Thank you."

He signaled his departure with a nod in her direction and forced his legs to carry him down the street where he had called for his Batmobile. It was just around the corner now and he wasn't entirely sure if he would make it. Just as he gripped the handle to his car, his hand gave out and he tumbled to the ground, the rain soothing against his hot skin. It was nice lying there, it was quiet and calm- he felt at ease. He thought of Clark and all the beautiful things the man had done to him when they were together.

Bruce cried out in pain again and tried to shift, eventually giving up and letting his head hit the pavement. If this was how he was going to die, then so be it. He just hoped Clark wouldn't carry the pain at Bruce's passing. The man didn't deserve that. He deserved everything.

Clark had been working in the Fortress when he heard it. There was the sound of a knife cutting through skin and a grunt of pain, one that he recognized better than anything. He could hear the squeak of leather boots stumbling along, and the sound of a body collapsing-

“Bruce,” He called breathlessly as he shot up into the sky before he could blink, flying towards Gotham in record time. It didn't take him long to find Bruce, he was lying motionless on a street in Gotham, next to his Batmobile that remained just as quiet as him. There was a faint heartbeat, not the strong one he knew- he could barely even hear one. Bruce's vitals were all over the place. Clark paused momentarily, then pulled himself together and scooped Bruce into his arms, the blood already staining his fingers. _Jesus_ , there was so much...

“ _Clark_ ,” He whispered hoarsely, brokenly, forcing his eyes open to get a glimpse of those beautiful blue ones he fell in love with. Just in case it was his last time seeing them.

“Hush, Bruce. I've got you.” He lifted off and was carrying Bruce back to the manor quickly, his focus mostly on the other man's eyes, scared that if he looked away, Bruce would slowly fade away, Clark being unable to prevent it. 

He wrapped Bruce in his cape and sped off at top speed to reach Bruce's home. He hoped to god Bruce would be okay. He was _not_ going to let it end here.

*~~*~~*

When Superman had returned to the Cave after Alfred tended to Batman, he was awake. His heart was beating weakly and his skin was as white as a sheet and looked as if it had been stretched right over his bone. Even when he glanced up at Clark standing in front of his bed, his eyes weren't the beautiful, full color they usually were; they were dull. He smelled of bleach.

“Why are you here?”

Clark's voice was a soft whisper as he stepped closer, his heart aching. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do,” Clark agreed solemnly.

“I don't think we should see each other anymore."

He stammered out a reply. “What? Why? We're friends, Bruce.”

“Not after the things we did, Clark. Friends don't just have sex.”

“But we did.”

“Yes, we did. And you put an end to it without bothering to tell me,” Bruce snapped, his words shattering like glass, “You know how that made me feel?”

“Because I _couldn't_ tell you, Bruce. I never intended to hurt you. It was... _nevermind_. You wouldn't understand," he paused, sighed in defeat, "Maybe you're right.” His shoulders sagged sadly, his eyes on the Cave floor. His eyebrows knit together as if _he_ were the one in pain.

Bruce nodded slowly, saying the words he didn't want to say, “Alright then.”

Clark took a hesitant step back, then paused. He looked at Bruce with a fire in his eyes. “You know what- _no_!" he objected, his fingers in fists, "I am _not_ going to quit being friends with you and I don't give a damn what you say. It's not that easy and it may be for you, but not me. And- those nights meant everything to me. Just like you do.” Clark paused as if waiting for Bruce to speak, then loosened his fists, “Dammit, I didn't want to tell you this but I wanted it so bad. I want you so bad. I know you said that sex created attachments and you didn't want that, but _I_ do. I want to be your everything, I want...” He sighed, Bruce completely stiff, his expression blank.

He looked away to avoid Clark's glower. “Leave. _Now._ ” Bruce was suddenly shaking with anger when Clark remained where he was, standing still like an idiot. “So go on! Live your perfect little life Clark and leave me be!”

He stomped his foot, his eyes blazing red. “The hell I will! I didn't mean to fall in love with you, Bruce!” He boomed, his voice causing the bats to screech, the sound of fluttering wings filling the cave as they flew overhead.

“Well fuck, neither did I!”

That was when the silence dawned upon the two, their breathing heavy, their eyes wild; Clark's now back to their normal sky-blue. 

“I'm sorry.” 

 _For what?_  he wanted to ask, but figured it was a stupid question and instead settled on, “I am too." 

 _Screw it_ , Clark thought as he hurried over to Bruce's side, unable to contain himself. He gripped the other man's chin gently and tilted his head, pressing his lips to Bruce's. The kiss was desperate and sad; the two gripped onto each other tightly. Bruce pulled Clark down on top of him, the man's cape an incredibly bright color against Bruce's chalky skin. When they pulled apart, Bruce found himself staring at the heated sheets around his body, purposely avoiding Clark's gaze.

He shook his head, biting his lip. "We can't do this, Clark."

Cupping the other man's cheek, he said softly, begging, "Why not, Bruce? Please, just stop making yourself suffer and let yourself have this one thing...this _love_."

"It isn't just about _me_ , you goddamn idiot!" Bruce hollered, slapping Clark's hand away. Clark knew he had always been a bit touchy when it came to talking about relationships, something he had never allowed himself to have. Everyone deserved someone. He lifted himself off of the bed; off of Bruce. 

"Aren't you worried at all that this could ruin everything? That one day, what we have will come to an end? Do you even think of the future at all?"

He chuckled and said dryly, "I'm not called the Man of Tomorrow for no reason."

He stopped himself from punching Clark and instead pointed his index finger at him, inches from his nose. "You don't get to joke around!"

Clark went silent, his lips a thin line. Bruce was right. They were trying to talk things over, but he always seemed to say the wrong thing.

"It's not that I'm letting myself suffer," Bruce added roughly, "There's never anything good that comes out of getting close to someone. I found out the hard way when everyone I get close to only gets killed. And... I wouldn't know what to do with myself if you left too."

"Bruce..." Clark began as soft as velvet, "You know that won't happen to me."

He sent Clark a glare, responding with, "I see it's another day and you're _still_ stupid."

"Will you _quit_ calling me stupid?" his hands tightened around the bars on the side of the bed, molding them in the shapes of his fingers. "You can be such a heartless bastard, Bruce."

" _I'm_ heartless? The only thing that got you to quit ignoring me was to nearly bleed to death. Why don't you insult me some more, _Superman_?" he hissed, speaking the name with disgust. He crossed his arms over his chest. He would have gotten up and left if he wasn't completely incapable of doing so. He also _really_ wanted to throw something at Clark. Preferably drop a building on his ass.

"I insult you? You've been calling me names since the first day I met you! I- no. _No_ , I know what you're trying to do." Clark shook his finger at Bruce as he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. Bruce only narrowed his eyes.

"What am I trying to do?"

"You're trying to make me second guess wanting to be with you," he spoke hastily, "Well, it won't work. No matter how much you argue with me, I will not leave your side."

That left Bruce wordless, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. His hardened expression softened, the crinkles in his forehead disappearing. He looked up at Clark, seeming younger; hopeful. No one had ever spoken those words to him, with the exception of Alfred. He felt a warm hand fall on his cold and frail one, Clark's fingers lacing with his. The larger man's thumb brushed across Bruce's bruised knuckles.

"I can take care of you. Let me take care of you," he pleaded, bringing his lips to Bruce's hand, "Nothing is going to happen to either of us, and I'll make sure of it." The warmth of Clark's breath against his skin made a shiver burrow its way deep in his bones. He craved more; wanted to feel Clark's naked body against his again, connecting like two puzzle pieces, moving together to make a whole picture. He missed Clark's touch- be it rough or as gentle as the man could manage. 

Bruce was thoughtful, considering the other man's words. Then, he said as he swallowed the large lump in his throat, "Clark, you can't save me. You won't be able to when my time comes. You _do_ know that, right? You can't always be there for me, like I know I can't always be there for you." He shook his head slowly. "And you deserve to have someone there for you all of the time. You're going to live a lot longer than I ever will and if we start something now... You can't live like that when I'm gone. Carrying some- _some_ burden.  _I_ can't live normally just knowing that's what would happen to you, for Christ's sake."

"You can't plan a relationship," he retorted, "You can't plan what you think other's will do or say. Why should it matter if I were still alive and you weren't? Because it would be better to have at least experienced part of my life with you, no matter how short. I'd take a day of loving you and being with you over a thousand days of just being your friend; never actually getting the confidence to really tell you I love you."

Bruce bit his tongue. "You don't love me, Clark."

"Don't tell me what I do or don't feel," he hissed in response, "You think you know everything, Bruce. Well you don't."

"What I do know is that whatever it was that happened between us, is over. You made me feel humiliated. If that is something a relationship offers, I don't want it." 

Clark rolled his eyes, his teeth grinding. "So, that's what's going to ruin what we have? Because I accidentally hurt the feelings you _don't_ have?"

Bruce grimaced and Clark immediately regretted his words. "Get out," he whispered, "Get the fuck out!" He ripped his hand from Clark, his jaw clenched so tight it became painful. He could feel the anger stir in his stomach, bubbling and rising. Just because Clark was offended, didn't make him right. 

"Bruce-"

He was fast to interrupt him. "If you can't see that I'm _not_ some selfish asshole, or see that I'm _trying_ to make this work, then get the hell out of my life."

Clark was standing now. "Trying? That's a load of bullshit and you know it, Bruce!"

Bruce was sitting more straight now, despite the aching pain in his leg. He welcomed the pain without question or complaint. "It's because this _cannot_ work!" He screamed, his fists balled, slamming down at his sides. "It will never work! What we had for those few months is over, Kal!"

"What about- _oh_ , I don't know, those few _years_? You're just going to forget about that too? Everything we've gone through?"

"If it's necessary."

" _Necessary_ \- you know what, fuck you, Bruce. I hate that I love you," he turned his back to Bruce and muttered under his breath, "I really do."

"Then if it's so goddamn bad, leave. Obviously I'm not worth fighting for. I already told you more times then I can count."

He was wrong. He was worth every fight Clark had in him. " _Fine_."

Bruce ignored the guilt that twisted his stomach as Superman took a few steps forward, and came to an abrupt halt. Bruce decided to say something before he could.

"Clark," he found the words drip off his tongue before it was too late. The man turned, frowning at Bruce in questioning. 

"Maybe someday," Bruce said, "But not tonight." In a swirl of cape, Superman was gone, along with his hope, leaving Bruce alone again.

*~~*~~*

About a month and a half later, Bruce was settling into bed, the other side of it untouched as he slipped between the covers, Clark's side unruffled. He was on his left side, facing the wall, pretending Clark was behind him, snoring lightly like he only did when in a deep sleep. He could almost _feel_ the other man's heat prickle along his skin, and he noticed rather quickly that the warmth of the comforter wasn't like what Clark's body offered; he was suddenly freezing, his flesh dotted with goosebumps. His thigh had healed and he was back at full health, his natural color returning, along with his energy. But he had never felt so drained. Not seeing Clark was like a part of him had been ripped apart, shredded. He didn't feel like himself. He never wanted to end it with Clark, but it was better for the both of them to just go their separate ways and forget anything had ever happened. Clark would find someone better, someone he deserved. Someone who could show him love, just like he would show them. The thought alone caused him to breath in deeply, an hunger in his chest left unfilled. It was worse tonight, the sensation that he was all alone. This was exactly why he refrained from sexual relations with others; it only created distractions. It always ended badly. Lifting the covers, he decided to head to the cave to blow off some steam. When he sat up, that was when he noticed he was being held down.

His fist shot forward on instinct as he managed a gasp, a firm hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping it from hitting its target. His eyes adjusted and he saw someone's familiar silhouette as he let his fist relax against their touch.

"Clark?" He croaked, his heart pounding in his chest from the sudden rush of adrenaline that pumped thickly through his veins.

" _Hush_ , Bruce," he soothed, pressing the man's hand to his body, the feel of Clark's beating heart under his skin. Bruce purred at the rapid thrum beneath his fingertips. Not taking his eyes off of Clark, he was gently pushed against the sheets, the stronger man's arms wrapping around his torso. Bruce's back was pressed to Clark's front.

" _Hush_ ," he repeated, pressing his lips to the back of Bruce's neck, then the top of his head. He curled himself around the smaller figure.

"Can I trade a thousand days for one last night, Bruce?" Clark chirped in his ear, his fingers finding the ones of the man he loved. He held them tightly, not wanting to let go. Eventually, he knew he would have to. And he really, _really_ didn't want to let go.

Bruce nodded in agreement and whispered breathlessly, "You can have me for tonight, Clark." He rolled around so the two of them were face-to-face, and he rested the palm of his hand on Clark's cheek, keeping their eyes locked. " _You can have me_." _  
_

Their lips met one last time. 


End file.
